


Life, Iridescent

by Cardinal_Daughter



Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 00:20:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7485954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cardinal_Daughter/pseuds/Cardinal_Daughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vegeta's entire existence could be defined by colors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life, Iridescent

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own DBZ or any of its characters. I simply adore writing from Vegeta's perspective. 
> 
> Apologies for any mistakes.

**Iridescent** : _adjective_  
Showing luminous colors that seem to change when seen from different angles

 

 _ **Life, Iridescent**_  

  
Vegeta's entire existence could be defined by colors. Every stage held distinct memories shaded by some prominent color, and sometimes those colors blended and sometimes they were merely splotches, ink stains on the pages of his life. But Vegeta's existence was a course in color theory, defining him by each shade and hue that he encountered. He could remember life events, singular moments, and entire stretches of time by the sight of a singular color, gripping his memory like a vice and flooding him in a swirl of varying shades and hues that defined his very being.

**Red**

As a boy, Vegeta's world was colored in shades of red. Planet Vegeta had been a harsh home, fitting for the harsh values of his culture. Born a prince, Vegeta was exposed to red from the beginning. The symbol of all Vegeta was, all that was expected of him, sat in red over his heart, his small Saiyan armor pristine white and blue save for the red mark that proclaimed his royalty. That small red symbol, swirling and rigid in its pattern, let the world know the boy's importance. Not that he could have forgotten.

Vegeta's father took great pride in his son. The young prince was strong for his age, disciplined, stoic, and bearing the manner fit for the ruler of the Saiyans. In the few spare moments he could afford, King Vegeta would take the Prince with him on tours and inspections of the formal Saiyan Army, made up of the best of the best, and young Vegeta would stand under the blistering heat of the red sky, watching his father, the king, demonstrate just what it meant to bear the name Vegeta and the legacy of the great Saiyan.

"Son," he would say as they returned to their home, grand in size but lacking the elaborate manifestations of wealth and power that other royals on other planets might display, "You are going lead these people one day, and you need to be strong. Your strength will define you, define your legacy. Our legacy. To exhibit strength worthy of the Saiyan Royalty is the greatest honor you can do for your people."

The young prince took those words to heart, and they echoed in his mind as he watched his planet- red and blistering and harsh- burn into smoldering ash before his eyes, everything he'd ever known gone in an instant.

Red would be the only color he saw for years to come.

**Purple and Pink, Part One**

"Get up, monkey."

Vegeta struggled to his knees, refusing to cry out as pain shot through his broken leg, and flared up at the hideous display of pink and purple sneering down at him with a twisted mix of disgust and pleasure.

"Come on, monkey," Frieza remarked, his voice a grating sound to Vegeta's ears, "Show me what the great Super Saiyan is made of! Or are you too weak to stand up?"

Vegeta made no move, frozen in his pain and shame. He would not give Frieza the satisfaction of seeing him stumble. Instead he glared silently at his master, biting his tongue to keep from speaking his mind. Frieza was unimpressed. "Zarbon?" He called with a lazy drawl, "Assist our little princeling."

Suddenly a rough hand grabbed his arm, yanking him to his feet, body screaming in pain as he was forced to put weight on his damaged leg. He was hauled up further until he was eye-to-eye with the monster, whose pink flesh and purple helm gleamed in the harsh light of the room. "You see?" He remarked smugly as onlookers watched the display with silence, "Pathetic." The word was spat in Vegeta's face, who said nothing. Bored with it all, Frieza motioned lazily for Vegeta to be taken away from him. Zarbon took great pleasure in dragging the prince away, tossing him with a careless motion into Vegeta's cramped quarters.

Later, as Nappa dressed his prince's wounds, he remarked, "One of these days, Vegeta, you're going to piss Frieza off just enough for you to wind up dead."

Vegeta said nothing in reply, too busy imagining the satisfaction he'd feel the day he stained those hideous colors with blood.

**Green, Part One**

Namek was a hellhole, Vegeta decided. The people were useless, the world was barren, and he was stuck between a rock and a hard place, trying to outwit Frieza, outlast the Ginyu Force, and gather the dragon balls to make his wish.

Immortality. To live forever, to survive past Frieza's wicked reign, to one day restore all that had been stolen from him.

To reclaim his legacy and hold onto it with both hands and never let it go again.

It was his driving force, his purpose: he would not rest until his wish was granted, and he could stand over the corpse of his father's murderer, his people avenged and his pride restored. It would be a glorious day, his destruction of Frieza.

But first, his wish. He sped along, air hard and cold against his face, the world a blinding and constant shade of green: the color of hope, the color of revenge, the color of victory, the color of everlasting life-

The color of the dragon who granted a wish that wasn't his.

**Blue, Part One**

Earth was nothing special. A relatively normal and unimpressive planet overall. Though Vegeta couldn't help but marvel at just how blue everything was. The planet was mostly water, shimmering blue under the light of sun and moon. The sky was a bright and cheery blue, pleasant and unassuming compared to the harsh red of his home's atmosphere. Here, everything was light, cool, and calm. Before, he'd known the harsh of red, blinding in its vibrancy. It was blinding here too; no longer harsh but bright.

Vegeta hated it.

He hated being stuck on this backwater planet with the Namekians, the annoying warriors he'd fought before, and most infuriating of all, the Blue Woman.

She was infuriating. Always yelling about something, constantly trying to talk to him, tell him not to train so much... It was horrible! But there was no escape from the blue of this world. Everywhere he turned he was surrounded, once more a prisoner, even as he was free to do as he pleased.

The planet was full of weaklings, yellow-bellied and useless. They were too consumed in comfort, leisure, and fun. He'd not struggled his entire life just to settle among those who had no understanding and little appreciation of what he'd endured. He lived a warriors life and this planet held nothing for him, save a good fight with some androids three years away, a gravity machine with which to train, and some truly unique and delicious food.

And then there was the woman who provided it all, nagging all the while, and annoying him to his very core. He hated this place, that woman, and every useless soul he would ultimately protect from his victory.

When he closed his eyes, he was flooded with the same color, and he felt like he might drown.

**Pink, Part Two**

Pink was a worthless color, Vegeta thought as he glanced at the shirt folded neatly in the dresser drawer of his room. When Bulma had given him the shirt initially, he'd thought it a joke. The clothing was hardly fit for the weakling men of her planet, and was certainly unfit for a warrior of his status.

She'd done it to be funny, but now she did it to spite him. He'd disintegrated the damn shirt twice now, but like so many of his ghosts, this one returned time and again, refusing to leave him in peace. She clearly had a stash of the damned things somewhere, and took great joy in annoying him. Clearly the woman had no respect. Or tact. Or subtly. Or sense.

Gripping the shirt in his hands, Vegeta marched through the house to where the Blue Woman was, and held the shirt up between them. He waited with practiced patience for Bulma to notice him, which had been instantly if the quickening of her heartbeat were any indication.

After a few minutes of purposely ignoring him, she glanced up. "Oh, hey Vegeta."

"Woman," he snarled, "Why do you insist on placing this hideous garment in my room?"

Bulma shrugged. "Maybe I think pink is a good color on you," she said with ease, "Maybe I'm being extremely hospitable by giving you any clothes to begin with. Or maybe," And here she leaned forward, wicked grin spreading across her lips, "Maybe it's because I think you look hot when you're annoyed."

Startled by her bluntness, Vegeta turned on his heel and exited the room as quickly as possible. He passed by a mirror in one of the hallways, stopping short when he noticed that his cheeks were a burning shade of pink that matched the shirt still clutched in his hands. He stared at his reflection for a long, silent moment, feeling as helpless now as he had as a soldier in Frieza's army.

How could that woman make him feel so helpless, and why did he enjoy the sensation when it was caused by _her_?

Growling, he wadded the shirt up and stormed back to his room, confused by the color on his cheeks and despising himself for how far he'd fallen from his father's throne.

**Gold**

" _Why can't I do it?"_

Vegeta was on the ground, prostrate in his agony. He'd been training so hard for so long and he couldn't feel anything that hinted that he might transform. Only rage, years, decades in the making pulsed through him, an all too familiar sensation that coursed throughout him, the only thing giving him purpose.

He forced himself up, struggling all the while, and began to train once more. His mind went blank save for the pounding in his ears and the straining of muscles that protested their overuse. His ignored it all, only allowed that rage to move him, to steer him toward the path that would lead to his transformation. It wouldn't come, and he cried out, agonized, at his failure.

He sank to his knees, head clasped in his hands so tight he ached, and he thought back to all the moments in his life that had been nothing but failure. His vision blackened, then swirled with color, and Vegeta let out a cry of anguish that had been pent up for far too long. He wept, anger and loss and fear and regret streaming down his face as the colors of his mistakes swirled before him in dazzling spirals. He felt warm, then hot, and then-

Then everything went still and silent. And when Vegeta lifted his head, the reflection that stared back at him in the window of his spaceship shimmered gold.

**Orange**

Even though he'd transformed; even though he'd ascended to the legendary Super Saiyan and fulfilled the long sought after desire of his father before him, it still wasn't enough.

Kakarot, the not-quite-Saiyan who knew nothing of what it meant to be a true warrior, had surpassed him at every turn. Nothing Vegeta did was ever enough, for Kakarot had already accomplished it, surpassed him, left him in the dust and stood off in the distance, waiting with that crooked grin and orange gi for his prince to catch up.

It wasn't fair; though little in his life had been.

But that bright, obnoxious orange was a reminder of just how he'd never be enough. Another failure to add to the list, another color to despise.

**Green, Part Two**

If Vegeta could describe failure, he would call it green. It was the color of the planet where he'd been felled by Frieza. It was the shade of the dragons that he would never wish on. It was the shade of the monster he'd let transform just to prove his strength.

The shade of the monster who had killed his son, killed countless others, Karakot included. Green would be his downfall, the color he saw in his last moments. It was once again the color of regret. Vegeta stared, appalled at his creation, as Cell and Gohan battled it out, the boy shouldering all the mistakes his Saiyan kin had made in this fight.

Cell was going to win. And Vegeta could only blame himself.

"No," Vegeta whispered, taking advantage of Cell's focus on Gohan to shoot up into the air. "Not as long as I breathe, he will not win. I will fix this mistake. I will not let this failure stand. This is not to be my legacy!"

Summoning all the energy he could muster, Vegeta fired a shot at Cell, giving Gohan the opening he needed to finish the green demon once and for all.

When the dust settled and Cell was no more, Vegeta collapsed, wondering what his father would think of him now.

**Blue, Part Two**

She was refreshing. Irritating, vulgar, disrespectful, and unafraid. Refreshing. Like water after a drought, like dreamless sleep after a lifetime of nightmares. She radiated blue, harsh and loud and unpredictable, but calm and cool and full of life. She'd been brought up in a world of blue: blue hair, blue eyes, blue sky. Vegeta had never seen a color he admired so much, and not for the first time he found himself drawn to her varying shades.

She was demanding and loud and cocky, but she was his match in every way. She challenged him, supported him, teased him, helped him. She was a paradox in blue and the first time she pressed her lips to his he felt as if he might drown under the waves of her perfection.

But instead she breathed life into his weary bones and he found purpose once more.

She pulled him in, catching him in the whirlpool of her gaze, and he made the conscious choice not to fight her. He'd fought every day of his long life: for his father's approval, for Frieza, against Frieza, fought to surpass Kakarot, the androids. Cell. He continued to fight even now, to regain his honor, his pride. But for the moment, he was still. He wanted the calm quiet of someone touching him without ill intent, wanted the breathy sighs and soft whispers. He wanted to lose himself in her, to forget any of those other colors existed save the illuminating blue that stared down at him as she rocked above him, holding him hostage in the most wonderful way.

Vegeta grew up in a world of red, and had fought his way through the purples, oranges, greens, pinks, and yellows only to land in a sea of blue. Opposite yet perfectly compatible. Beautiful and solemn and life-saving.

"I love you," she breathed above him, and his hands clutched her tighter to him. He wasn't able to say the words, not yet, but he felt them nonetheless, and just as he'd defined his past as red and his failures as green, he saw his future as nothing but blue.

**Purple, Part Two**

He sees redemption as purple, his son's sparse lavender hair sticking out from his cap as he babbles and wobbles where he attempts to take his first unassisted steps. Vegeta watches the boy, a combination of his red and his mother's blue, a perfect mix of them both, Saiyan and human, the best of them both.

He is still haunted by the colors of his past; nightmares visit frequently like the unwanted guests they are, but he manages, blocking out the mural of colors to instead focus on what he has here in front of him. His life has changed, evolved, transformed. He still defines his life by color, but he sees their varying shades, and can appreciate the light and the dark. He just has to adjust the angle at which he looks at them.

Trunks walks across the room on chubby, unsteady legs, then falls with a laugh into Vegeta's lap, babbling happily as the Saiyan Prince nods encouragingly to his heir.

And for the first time in his life, all is well. 


End file.
